No Headlights
by wendytorrance
Summary: Miranda is retiring, and finds Andrea back in her life under the most convenient circumstance. Inspired slightly by "Style" by Taylor Swift.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Hi everyone. I haven't written anything in a while. If you like it, let me know. If you don't, break it to me kindly. _

_Summary: Miranda is retiring, and finds Andrea back in her life under the most convenient circumstance. Inspired slightly by "Style" by Taylor Swift. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything. _

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><p>Miranda hadn't had a dream in eight years. At first it didn't bother her because she thought there was nothing to be bothered by. She fell asleep and woke up well-rested. The visions of her former assistant no longer haunted her in her slumber. At first, she was irritated, agitated, that the girl seemed to have the nerve to mock her in such a vulnerable state of unconsciousness. She couldn't stand the sight of that sickeningly angelic face that seemed to be glued to the back of her eyelids so she went through a period of avoiding sleep at all costs. Then one night, after reviewing The Book, there wasn't enough caffeine in the world to keep Miranda awake. As she drifted off she prayed that face would be kind. Those wide doe-like eyes, those full red classic lips, were suddenly something Miranda became very fond of. But gradually she came to realise that as these dreams slowly dissipated, she could only dream of Andrea during the day. And as the dreams dissipated, the days grew more hectic.<p>

Today was bordering on catastrophic. Not because there was a deadline to meet. Not because Nigel had come in-and-out of Miranda's office at least 10 times in the last half hour. No. It was because Miranda was retiring. Her minions walked on eggshells. Irv was uncharacteristically nice. The new Emily had actually unplugged the phone from the wall socket due to the absurd amount of journalists and TV 'personalities' requesting a tell-all interview.

Miranda had managed to escape to the conference room for some peace and quiet. She locked the door behind her and searched frantically for the remote control to the widescreen television mounted in the top left corner of the room. A few minutes of trashy daytime soap might help calm her nerves. Might get rid of the ringing in her ears. Might relieve the tight pinching in her left temple. Remote allocated, she switched on the plasma screen and flicked through various channels before something caught her eye. Wide, expressive brown eyes, long chestnut hair, full red classic lips. Miranda rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. She must be hallucinating. Her dream-lack slumber has denied her the image of this beauty for so long that she was seeing things. But then the girl's name was printed on the screen. Andy Sachs. Andrea. The girl's bright face was shown between pictures and videos of various celebrities performing the most mundane tasks. She made jibes about Taylor Swift's 'lesbian' kiss. She spoke of Bill Cosby with surprise and disgust. She spoke of Miranda's retirement with great sadness. Andrea was an entertainment reporter for some lowly noon gossip show.

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><p><em>So, should I continue?<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: I'm so glad you guys want me to continue! Thank you everyone for the encouragement. I promise the Mirandy stuff is coming soon, just working up to it!_

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><p>The walk back to the office lacked her usual elegance and regal. Miranda's shoulders were slumped forward as she begrudgingly dragged her feet some 10 metres before she basically threw herself face forward onto the plush leather lounge in the far left corner of her home-away-from-home. She fought the sudden and rather unusual urge to sob as a fiery surge of heat engulfed her.<p>

"Why is it so hot in here?"

A knock at the door broke her from the quiet contemplation. Her first assistant, Scarlett, entered the room with her eyes glued to the schedule she held in her hands, and was shocked when she managed to tear her eyes away from the piece of paper to find her boss not at her desk.

"Miranda?"

"It's a damn inferno in here. I feel like I have dived head first into a volcano." Miranda rose from lying on the couch to gather herself in a more graceful position. Her eyes bulged ever-so-slightly as she saw Scarlett wearing a heavy cotton cardigan, skin-tight black jeans and a cashmere scarf. "Why on earth are you wearing that? You'll die of heat stroke for heaven's sake!"

Scarlett's eyebrows furrowed slightly. Miranda had been acting out-of-sorts lately; memory lapses, mood swings, both loss and gain of appetite...but she had never complained of heat on a freezing cold winter's day.

"Miranda, there's snow on the window." Scarlett placed Miranda's schedule down on the desk and stepped over to the lounge, taking a seat next to her boss.

"Are you feeling ok?"

Miranda just shrugged. Scarlett raised the back of her hand to Miranda's forehead. The skin was cold and clammy, no signs of a fever. "You haven't got a temperature. Did you remember to take that medication the doctor prescribed you?"

Miranda rolled her eyes like a insolent child. "Yes." She couldn't even remember what those pills were for. Anxiety, or something. Maybe that's what was wrong. Maybe it was anxiety. Maybe she should take another pill.

"One tablet a day with breakfast. Don't even think about it." Scarlett warned. The young woman seemed to be miles ahead of her in every possible way. Miranda had no idea what she would do without this woman.

Often, she fondly remembered the day they met. Scarlett was a steal from Anna Wintour. A literal steal. A year had passed since the fiasco in Paris, and Miranda struggled to obtain a second assistant who could exceed beyond her expectations like Andrea had. Begrudgingly, she attended some type of festive Christmassy fundraiser 'do for the homeless. She bumped into Anna, exchanged faux pleasantries, and her ears pricked and eyes flashed when her nemesis proceeded to brag about how wonderful her second assistant, Scarlett, was. For some reason, Miranda stayed at the event beyond her usual fifteen minutes, and when it all began to die down, she found this Scarlett at the bar clutching onto her glass of moscato. Miranda tossed her purse onto the bar with a flick of her wrist and ordered a scotch. She threw it back and slammed the glass down before turning fully to Scarlett, saying bluntly,

"_Work for me and I'll pay you three times the amount you make at that repugnant little rag."  
><em>  
>The next day Scarlett stepped into Miranda's office, obviously ready to start the day with a confident grin spread across her face.<p>

"_Oh good, you're finally here. I need scarves – Hermes – and, Emily, get Balenciaga on the pho-"_

"_Oh, no. No no. That's not how things go on around here now." _Scarlett interrupted.

Miranda's shoulders squared, shock flashed through her piercing blue eyes_. "Excuse me?"_

"_My name is Scarlett, not Emily. You will ask me nicely to do your little chores. A 'please' has never killed anyone. You will treat me with the respect that I deserve." _

That very moment, Miranda considered the reasons why so many assistants had such short tenures at _Runway_. For a fleeting second she wondered if it was her who drove them away, maybe Andrea didn't leave simply because she wanted to.

"_Please."_

Scarlett's confident grin returned_. "Hermes, Balenciaga. Coffee?"_

Miranda nodded.

"_Anything else?"_

Miranda shook her head. She watched as her new assistant turned on her heel and strolled out of her office. She sat, silent, not sure of what to think of what just happened. And not entirely sure of what to think of herself.

Miranda started to relax at _Runway_. She engaged in conversations with both Emily and Scarlett, exchanging stories of their weekends. To everyone else it came as a shock, but to Miranda it felt natural. It felt long overdue. It felt like something not worth worrying about.

When Emily was promoted to the Art Department, Miranda enjoyed her interactions with Scarlett as the first assistant. When she dropped The Book off in the evenings, the young woman would also stop by the den for a glass of wine. They would watch the news together, sometimes in a comfortable silence but most times they would express their anger and disgust at the current state of the world. They would recommend books, plays, films to each other. They would just chat, like friends. It had been a long time since Miranda had experienced such a true friendship, and she had to admit, it felt good.

Miranda sighed. They sat in companionable silence on the plush lounge for a moment while Miranda's personal heat wave subsided. She frowned. "Barbara Walters."

"What about her?"

"I will do one interview, but only if it's with Barbara Walters."

"Miranda, she hates you. From the get-go she has made it clear that she wants nothing to do with you."

Miranda's shoulders slumped slightly. There were people who would sell their limbs to be interviewed by that woman. But there were also people out there who would sell their vital organs to interview Miranda. "Fine. Find me the next Barbara Walters."

Scarlett's emerald eyes bulged.

"What, impossible? Honestly, Scarlett. If you can get my twins into a pre-screening of that new Hunger Games film a month before it's released, I'm sure you can find the next Barbara Walters."


End file.
